Every Day Quotes April
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about our favourite characters. One quote per day.
1. Apr 1

Every Day Quotes: April

_**Apr 1  
><strong>_When people do not respect us we are sharply offended; yet deep down in his private heart no man much respects himself.  
><strong>Mark Twain<strong>** (1835 - 1910)**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs respected his superiors. It had been drilled into him in the Corps; his superiors were his superiors and he was to obey them without question.

The attitude had remained with him even when he had left. At first he had respected Mike for taking the time and effort to teach him how to do the job. Then he had respected Mike for simply being Mike and looking out for him. Then, as he had advanced, he had respected his Directors, both Morrow and Shepard.

Though it was a little hard to respect someone who had thrown up all over his new boots while observing her first Autopsy. Nevertheless, he tried his best.

However, the one person he could not respect was himself. He was a failure and there was no reason to respect such a man. He had failed to prevent the deaths of Shannon and Kelly, the most important people in his life, the women it was his duty to protect until his dying breath.

How could anyone respect a man who had failed so spectacularly? How could his team, how could DiNozzo respect him? How could they hold him in such high regard when he deserved none of it?

And yet when Tony showed a lack of respect, why did he headslap him back into line?

Leroy Jethro Gibbs hoped that one day he would no longer blame himself for the deaths of his family. And from that day on, no one had dare fail to respect him.


	2. Apr 2

_**Apr 2  
><strong>_Any woman with a purse that big's bound to have somethin' in it that I don't wanna know about.  
><strong>Brian Buckner<strong>, _True Blood, Plaisir d'amour, 2008_

Jennifer Shepard smiled at another Congressman and his wife as she traversed the foyer. She was sorely tempted to go over and introduce herself to the aforementioned wife, simply to inform her of the number of times her husband had appeared to forget his vows, but decided to refrain. She was trying to enjoy tonight, not end up in a brawl.

An evening at the ballet was certainly her idea of a good time. The man hovering at her shoulder, staring at her ass in a completely non-protective way, happened to hate anything vaguely cultural, but it had been his choice to protect her six. She had wanted to bring Ziva, so they could combine their official roles in public and discuss the ballet the moment the lights went down. Unfortunately, Gibbs knew their habit and had overruled their plan.

How he was capable of overruling her was a complete mystery, seeing as she was supposed to be his boss, but it seemed a few words in the ears of her protective detail and her girly nights were no more.

Spoilsport.

In revenge, she had given Tony his favorite coffee with an extra six shots of espresso and told him of Jethro's secret affection for sonnets.

From somewhere unseen, a bell rang to indicate five minutes till curtain up. Continuing to smile, she headed for the entrance, Gibbs on her heels. Security were performing a quick bag search. Rolling her eyes, she passed her purse to Gibbs.

"Hold this."

He scowled but obeyed, Security just ahead. To her complete lack of surprise, he opened her purse and had a quick glance inside.

"Jen, are you aware of the –"

"Shut up," she ordered through a gritted smile.

It wasn't until they were through and heading towards their seats that he asked his next question. "Why'd you need such a big gun?"

She smiled sweetly, snatching her purse back. "To shoot you if you disturb me."


	3. Apr 3

_**Apr 3  
><strong>_In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility.  
><strong>William Shakespeare<strong>** (1564 - 1616)**

Abby Scuito loved seeing McGee sleep. He looked so much younger, the weight of the world falling from his shoulders.

Team Gibbs had had a rather quiet day. Actually, so had most of the Navy Yard. A performance review was due soon and every agent was taking advantage of the current lull in criminal activities to catch up with their paperwork. Abby somehow remained on top of it most of the time, despite her workload, while Timmy was nothing but organized.

With no urgent analyses to run, Abby had commandeered Timmy to assist her in the lab. A little peace gave her the opportunity to deal with the repairs that stacked up when she was too busy to even think of them. Now up to two large boxes full of broken equipment, she needed to get back on top of it while she had the chance.

And so they had spent their day fixing lamps, applying WD-40 to Bunsen burners, replacing batteries in stopwatches, and determining which of her lights for circuits worked and how many needed replacement bulbs. Long, tiring, boring, but necessary.

Timmy had finally fallen asleep on her desk. She had turned down her music and continued to work around him, being careful not to disturb him; he clearly needed the rest. He looked so innocent, so young. She wanted to take a photo but was afraid she would wake him in the process.

She smiled softly to herself. She loved a sleeping Timmy.


	4. Apr 4

_**Apr 4  
><strong>_The nice thing about quotes is that they give us a nodding acquaintance with the originator which is often socially impressive.  
><strong>Kenneth Williams<strong>, _Acid Drops (1980)_

Tony DiNozzo was having an excellent day. The sun was shining, Gibbs was on a coffee run, and he had seen a wonderful movie the previous night.

The conversation in the squad room had veered off slightly from his original topic of the movie, and possibly also the woman he had taken with him to the cinema, and he was now happily propounding his theory that James Bond could beat John McClanein a fair fight.

McGee had tried to inquire as to whether gadgets would be allowed, but Tony had thrown a wad of paper in his general direction to shut the Probie up.

"I mean, James Bond is all '_shaken, not stirred',_" he continued, pulling off his very best Sean Connery impersonation. He beamed at Ziva, who seemed exasperated.

"Do you have to quote movies all the time?" she asked.

"What's wrong with it?" he wondered aloud.

"Are you incapable of having an original thought?" she demanded.

He thought for a moment. "Apart from the special effects, I thought _Avatar_ sucked. Although I did see you in that blue chick."

"I thought the relationship between the two of you was perfectly shown by the lead characters," McGee piped up, to be ignored completely.

Ziva shook her head in frustration, a move he knew to regard as a warning sign that if he did not pay attention, she was likely to escalate to throwing weapons around the squad room. "I mean that you only quote what other people have said. Do you not have anything smart to say yourself?"

"There's a quote for every occasion," Tony argued.

"And you use one every time," Gibbs stated, sweeping back into the squad room.

"Yes, boss," Tony replied. "Shutting up, boss."


	5. Apr 5

_**Apr 5  
><strong>_What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?  
><strong>Dr. Robert Schuller<strong>

Leroy Jethro Gibbs watched over his team as the discussion began. He knew they hated teamwork seminars almost as much as he did, but Jenny had personally escorted them all to the room and was staying.

Which was fine with him. If he had to suffer, she could suffer with him.

He stood to one side as his team sat around a table, all babbling at once. None of them seemed to realize he could hear every word.

Their task appeared simple: to discuss what they would attempt to do if they knew they could not fail. Gibbs was quietly intrigued by what his team would come up with.

"I would jump off a high building," Tony declared, taking charge of his little group.

Ziva answered instantly. "I would push you off one if you got close enough to the edge."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "I mean I'd survive, my little assassin."

"Why?"

"To impress women."

Gibbs resisted the urge to snort; Ziva didn't bother. Of course.

"I would publish another paper," Abby decided. "Although I'm not sure which journal I'd pick; there are so many excellent ones out there and just to be published is amazing enough – do you know the amount of time and effort that goes into my papers? I'm so happy when someone accepts them."

"I would take on Gibbs in our next training session in the gym," Ziva announced. "And I would win."

Gibbs silently decided to knock her to the floor as soon as possible during their next session for that comment.

"Your turn, Probie," Tony teased.

"I would… tell my editor what I really think of her," McGee sensibly concluded.

"You think she would fire you?" Ziva questioned. "Do not worry; I can pay her a visit."

"I don't have the nerve," McGee admitted.

Gibbs was glad no one dared ask him what he would do. He would bring his family back, bring back those he still continued to love and miss. And he had no idea what Jenny was thinking next to him; she would ask him for forgiveness for leaving so long ago.


	6. Apr 6

_**Apr 6 – continuation of Apr 5  
><strong>_The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in determination.  
><strong>Tommy Lasorda<strong>

Ziva David observed Abby with amusement as the Goth danced about her lab.

There was method behind the madness. Abby had promised within two minutes she would be finished for the moment, and while her babies ran their various analyses, she would be able to deal with the very thing Ziva had come to see her about.

The Israeli knew the discussion the previous day about what they would like to do if they knew they could not fail had struck a tune with Abby, and she was now working feverishly on her next paper. Ziva had come along on a quiet day to support and encourage her friend.

"Done," Abby sung as she returned to her main computer. "I have half an hour until Major Mass Spec will demand my attention."

"How does he demand your attention?" Ziva wondered.

"Oh, normally he blows a fuse or something, but he should be okay for a little while – I gave him a lot of TLC this morning on purpose."

"What are you writing about?" Ziva pulled her chair closer and stared at the screen.

"A possible method to overcome the challenges presented by triacetone triperoxide and hexamethylene triperoxide diamine in security screening."

Ziva smiled. Explosives she could understand. "Talk me through it," she decided.


	7. Apr 7

_**Apr 7  
><strong>_Words are the physicians of the mind diseased.  
><strong>Aeschylus<strong>** (525 BC - 456 BC)**, _Prometheus Bound_

Ducky saw a lot of disease in his work as a medical examiner. Both physical and mental disease crossed his table on a regular basis.

His guests had usually suffered a physical blow by death. Missing limbs or heads were common, often located after they had already suffered the indignity of lying on a cold metal table. Predators liked to run off with them as a quick snack. But physical disease in his mind also included gunshot wounds, trauma of various types and the occasional heart attack or poisoning.

Mental disease sometimes played a role. The suicides were the most depressing. With help, Ducky hoped they could have lived happily for much longer. To see a life cut short by one's own hand was painful. Mental disease to him also included the accidental overdoses, any death involving alcohol, and the simply insane things some people did that took them out of the gene pool.

He wished to add a third disease to his list, although he was not sure everyone would accept it as such. Evil. A disease which was responsible for the vast majority the guests requiring his services, a disease which infected everyone in some way. Perhaps it was a disease, spreading from person to person. Some people were carriers. The treatment was a quarantine away from the rest of the healthy world, and often ended in death.

Disease to him seemed so common as he worked with those who suffered. But he preferred his role, helping those who were affected by the diseased people. To Ducky, it was the most important job anyone could do.


	8. Apr 8

_**Apr 8  
><strong>_That which you call your soul or spirit is your consciousness, and that which you call 'free will' is your mind's freedom to think or not, the only will you have, your only freedom, the choice that controls all the choices you make and determines your life and your character.  
><strong>Ayn Rand<strong>** (1905 - 1982)**, _Atlas Shrugged_

Timothy McGee was not used to existential debates in the squad room, except perhaps when Ziva was in a contemplative mood. Most of the time, he had to visit Ducky or Abby to discuss philosophy.

Which was why his partner in the debate today surprised him. Tony usually preferred conversing about women, fast cars and movies, with the occasional junk food thrown in for good measure (or literally thrown across the squad room). It seemed a recent movie had managed to make Tony think.

A minor miracle.

"So free will means I do what I do because I choose to do so," Tony summed up.

"Exactly," Tim agreed.

"Why do people say we don't have free will then?" Tony questioned.

"Well, some people say our fate is determined before we're born," Tim answered. "They would say that us having this conversation together, at this particular point in time, was meant to happen and we wouldn't be able to prevent it."

"But I can prevent it," Tony argued. "I could walk down to Abby's lab right now and we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Ah, but they would argue that you didn't decide of your own free will to do so. That it was fated to happen and you are fated to believe it's all free will."

"So it's an illusion?"

"That's what some people would say."

"That's insane! I'm in charge of my life!"

"Actually, that's not completely true."

"If we take Gibbs out the equation –"

"No, not because of Gibbs. Scientists have found people seem to make a decision half a second before they consciously make a decision, which could indicate a lack of free will."

Tony stared at him for a moment. "No way."

"I'm not saying there isn't free will," Tim continued. "Maybe most of our lives are pre-destined and we can only influence a tiny amount. Maybe we can influence large events only, those important moments in your life when everything will change based on one decision. Maybe we don't have any free will at all."

"That's just depressing."

Tim shrugged. "You brought it up."

Tony screwed his face up in concentration. "So when April told me she didn't want to see me because we're not destined to be together…"


	9. Apr 9

_**Apr 9  
><strong>_He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare,  
>And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere.<br>**Ali ibn-Abi-Talib**** (602 AD - 661 AD)**, _A Hundred Sayings_

Perhaps, Tobias Fornell mused, getting into an argument with NCIS and taking the case they claimed to be theirs was a bad idea.

Separating Gibbs from a case was always difficult and the man had a tendency to keep investigating even after he had supposedly handed everything over. He would take any advantage to steal the investigation out from under the FBI and hold a grudge for months.

To be fair, Tobias would happily have let Gibbs handle such a media-sensitive, complex case, but The Powers That Be at the Hoover Building had decided the case was theirs and had managed to overrule Director Shepard. So now he had to wade through the massive boxes of paperwork that NCIS had dumped on him, assuring him it was all essential and important.

He was dreaming of a bonfire.

If he was lucky, someone high up the food chain would soon realize the grieving parents had called the media as soon as the FBI had taken control and were now complaining to every outlet in town that every agent currently assigned to the investigation was incompetent, idiotic or insane. He harbored a tiny thought that Gibbs might have used every phone number of redheaded reporters he had collected over the years, but didn't take it seriously. He wouldn't cause the FBI _that_ much trouble.

The worst of it was he kept bumping into Gibbs at his coffee shop. It was nowhere near the Navy Yard, but Gibbs seemed to have switched suppliers simply to harass him.

"Tobias," Gibbs grinned, raising his new cup to his lips as Fornell stood in line. "How's the case?"

"Got a suspect," the FBI agent told him triumphantly.

"The boyfriend's got an alibi," Gibbs smirked, walking off into the distance.

Tobias swore under his breath. How did Gibbs know that?


	10. Apr 10

_**Apr 10  
><strong>_Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.  
><strong>Ernest Hemingway<strong>** (1899 - 1961)**

Ziva David growled as the knocking on her apartment door continued. Someone had better be dying out there…

She put her book on the coffee table, taking the time to carefully place the bookmark inside. It was after midnight; unless Gibbs called, she would not consider this urgent. Scowling, she located the nearest gun (under the cushions) and stealthily made her way to the door. If someone was trying to lure her outside under false pretences, she would make them pay for disturbing her free time.

Looking through the peephole, it took a moment for the image to register. Then she flung over the door.

"What are you doing here?" she almost yelled at Tony.

He was propping himself up by her doorframe, a loopy grin on his face. "Hey, _Zee-vah_. You look pretty tonight."

She stared at him. "Are you drunk or are you straight?"

"Who's straight?" Definitely drunk then. By now, she could smell the alcohol on him. "I can't see straight," he continued. "Oh, hello Mister Floor, fancy meeting you down here."

Groaning, she tucked her gun into the back of her pants and dragged him bodily through the door. Her neighbors would never forgive her for allowing such an intoxicated man to sleep outside her door all night.

This did not mean she had to help him any more though.

"Sleep," she ordered, leaving him on the more socially polite side of her door. She hoped his hangover in the morning was painful, and smirked as she thought of how stiff he would be after sleeping on the floor all night.

She could always defend her bedroom with various weapons. Even a drunk Tony was not that suicidal.


	11. Apr 11

_**Apr 11  
><strong>_Work while you have the light. You are responsible for the talent that has been entrusted to you.  
><strong>Henri-Frédéric Amiel<strong>

Abby Scuito decided she needed to get some corpses in her lab.

She hated power cuts. Her babies were extraordinarily sensitive – they had to be to perform the intricate analyses she demanded of them every day – and to be suddenly deprived of power and not go through a complicated shutdown sequence was extremely painful to them. A few corpses would get her emergency power and then her babies would be satisfied.

Unfortunately, while she had convinced Ducky of her need for emergency power, she had yet to persuade him to hand over a few corpses.

And so she had lit an astonishing number of candles, both large and tiny, all over her lab to provide the appropriate illumination necessary for sample preparation. After all, the power cut couldn't last forever and she needed to be ready for when the power returned.

The first thing she would do was soothe her babies and provide whatever tender loving care was necessary to induce them to behave. Then she would recover every sample that had been caught up in the power cut. But until the power returned, she had to do something to keep on track and sample preparation did not always require electricity.

She hummed to herself as she worked, missing her music. Hopefully it would not take long now. The last thing she wanted was for the candles to burn her lab down in the meantime.


	12. Apr 12

_**Apr 12  
><strong>_The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining.  
><strong>John F. Kennedy<strong>** (1917 - 1963)**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was content to keep his house in shape.

He wasn't really fussed about the décor; his ex-wives usually chose it and he was left with various parts after the inevitable divorces. With no recent marriage and nothing on the horizon, he had taken the opportunity to arrange everything his way for once.

The basement was the only part of his house he spent any reasonable amount of time in, and everyone knew it was his domain. He didn't have to worry about losing it in a divorce settlement or a wife attempting to tidy down there, though he suspected Diane still had nightmares of the time she had lugged a bucket full of cleaning products down the rickety stairs and promptly been attacked by his boat.

What he was far more concerned about was the outside of his house. The walls, the windows, the garden that needed an eye kept on it, and his immediate concern, his roof. His roof which had started leaking over the winter, but it had been too wet to deal with it then.

Now, with the sun shining, Jenny had come over with beer and a promise to schlep for him. And so he found himself up on his roof, ordering his boss to run up and down the ladder to fetch whatever he needed. Thankfully she had abandoned her high heels or he suspected she would have twisted an ankle long ago.

He grinned at her as he finished, the sun still shining low in the sky. They were both possibly a little drunk, but he was pleased.


	13. Apr 13

_**Apr 13  
><strong>_Just because we've been dealt a certain hand, it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above - to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can.  
><strong>Stephenie Meyer<strong>, _Twilight, 2005_

Timothy McGee was not a good poker player. As Abby had once told him, he wore his emotions on his sleeve.

And it was possibly even worse when he was playing with a Mossad Officer, one who kept her emotions hidden at all times and thus was impossible to read anyway.

Over the years he had worked at NCIS, both Tony and Abby had attempted to coach him in poker. He understood the rules and could play the game competently, but it seemed her could not control his face. Everyone at the table knew what his hand was like before he even looked up. Abby had joked she could tell exactly which cards he had before he had processed them fully.

Despite the fact he was next to useless at it, he actually enjoyed the game. Though he tended to lose, he was aware of this and did not play for ridiculous sums of money he knew he would never see again. He enjoyed the challenge of deciphering whether someone else was bluffing or not, and he was rather good at it.

He stared at Ziva's blank face, trying to read her with absolutely no success. He knew he would lose against her. Perhaps it had not been a good idea to agree to play for the loser supplying Gibbs with coffee for a month.


	14. Apr 14

_**Apr 14  
><strong>_We did a variant of the intern thing. We hired people as consultants for a specific thing and then if they were good, offered them a job.  
><strong>Joshua Schachter<strong>, _Sink or Swim, SXSW 2006_

"Why do I have to have interns?"

Jennifer Shepard sat at her desk and tried not to laugh at the sight of one of her senior agents, whose age and gender she was certain about, whining to her like a little girl. This was going to amuse her for weeks.

She supposed she probably should have either been clearer in the email she sent to every agent in the Navy Yard or called him into her office sooner to clarify how this would work out for her best team. But SecNav had decided to completely misunderstand her latest budget report to him and spent several hours demanding to know where the money had disappeared to. After much ado, she had discovered he had assumed the amount of money she had informed him was left to spend in the fiscal year was a negative. One very chastened SecNav had finally left her alone.

"I don't want interns, Jen," Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs continued to whine. "They screw up my coffee order. They distract DiNozzo; even if they're male, he just worries about them looking at Ziva."

Jenny privately felt Ziva should be allowed to deal with Tony in her own way, but she was concerned about the amount of blood that would be left on the carpet. She had not worked so hard to save every cent possible of her agency's money to blow it all on cleaning up behind a Mossad assassin.

"Remember that intern in the London office?" Oh goody, bringing up the past.

"You were the one who hung him from the flagpole," she reminded him.

He scowled. "He deserved it."

"For flirting with me?"

He pretended she hadn't spoken. She took advantage of his temporary silence while he tried to work out if there was another reason for being against that particular intern.

"I am not assigning any interns to your team, Jethro. Oh, don't give me that look."

He gave her another look which clearly said '_What look?'_

"I couldn't say it in the email or everyone who didn't want an intern would try to get rid of theirs. However, I do not wish to watch anyone run screaming from the Navy Yard before we train them. So, you will keep quiet about this perk and not torment a single one or I will keelhaul you."

He nodded, thinking he had won. She allowed him to leave under this mistaken impression. By the time he realized she had arranged to reassign Agent Balboa's intern to his team after a few weeks of training, she would be at a conference in Madrid.

Though she suspected she would be able to hear his complaints from there.


	15. Apr 15

_**Apr 15  
><strong>_Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.  
><strong>Bible<strong>, _Hebrews xi. 1._

Tony DiNozzo hated unseen evidence.

More accurately, he hated evidence he could see that was slimy and disgusting, but was necessary to collect so someone else could find unseen evidence.

Ducky suspected their Commander had been poisoned; Tony thought the froth about his mouth gave the game away slightly. But with the deceased a week old and decomposing merrily, Ducky had decided there was a more accurate way of determining the exact poison which lawyers could argue less about in court.

This involved collecting maggots for Abby, so she could blend them and analyze the resulting puree to identify the pure poison that would currently be inside them. It meant he would have to hold the Goth's hand as she killed the maggots, as she disliked that part of her job, and possibly help her locate her funereal music before they started.

But for now, he had to collect the maggots in question.

This was surprisingly easy in theory, but horrible in practice. The maggots squirmed everywhere and were thoroughly revolting. They stank. The corpse they crawled over stank. Even when he screwed up the nerve to use the tweezers and trap a wriggling blob in them, the thing tried to escape and he lost more than half to gravity.

Abby wanted fifty of these, and another fifty as a sample to grow up or something. He hadn't been paying attention to why she wanted them, just the numbers involved on his end.

He dropped another one as it squirmed out of his grip. He had tried gripping them harder, but Ducky disapproved when they went splat.

"Have you ever thought that maggots look just like rice?" Ziva commented in his ear, out of Ducky's range of hearing.

He shuddered. That image would be in his head for a long while to come.


	16. Apr 16

_**Apr 16  
><strong>_People often grudge others what they cannot enjoy themselves.  
><strong>Aesop<strong>** (620 BC - 560 BC)**, _The Dog in the Manger_

Timothy McGee knew his computer skills were more advanced than most people. It was in his nature to assist others when they came to him in need. But he wished they would not ask him to his face for help and then distrust him behind his back.

His skills scared some people. They wondered how he could master a machine they thought hated them and did everything possible to annoy them. They assumed his technical skill was directly related to his vast intellect. They prodded and poked their computers, unable to understand how he was able to make his work flawlessly and seemingly effortlessly. They worried about his hacking abilities – could he see what they had been looking up online? Could he access their bank accounts?

The whispers annoyed him. He knew some people would always grudge others who could do something they couldn't, but the whispers got to him. He wasn't deaf and he wasn't immune from feelings. What they said hurt.

And yet the moment they had a tiny problem, they would run to him, practically begging him to deal with it. Simple things that could be easily dealt with, whether by rebooting or running an anti-virus check. Their pleas would be heart-rending; he wouldn't turn them away.

Sometimes Tim wished to be as ignorant of computers as other were. And then he would break a case or solve a riddle and his team, his _friends_, would remind him they wouldn't have been able to do it without him.


	17. Apr 17

_**Apr 17  
><strong>_Everything has its beauty but not everyone sees it.  
><strong>Confucius<strong>** (551 BC - 479 BC)**

The crest of the hill was windswept, the frigid air blowing in torrents towards the body of water in the distance. The sun barely managed to peek out from the threatening clouds which held it at bay, the rays of light scarcely warming the land they fell on.

If there had been a soul alive to see it, the view was magnificent. Miles of rolling countryside in every direction, the occasional farmhouse dotted about like pieces on a chessboard, acres of arable land filled with corn or wheat, cows scattered about as though by the hand of a tempest. In the south, the gray churning waters of the ocean kept a silent vigil, their constant crash against the shore unable to travel this far.

A few trees sat on the horizon, attempting to break the relentless wind but ultimately unsuccessful. Bushes rustled as the cold air forced its way through, still standing in spite of the gales that regularly battered this hill. Blades of grass bent in worship to some unseen monarch, rarely able to stand to attention. A patch of daffodils supplied a little color to the area, twinkling forlornly at the base of a tree, and wishing for the sun to conquer the clouds and shine on them. Their heads faced the sky in this unvoiced, endless plea.

The only thing out of place was the Petty Officer lying face down, his head towards the ocean and one shoe resting on a daffodil. His ruby blood stained the grass, sinking through to the soil.


	18. Apr 18

_**Apr 18  
><strong>_If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.  
><strong>J. D. Salinger<strong>** (1919 - 2010)**, _The Catcher in the Rye, opening line_

Ziva David thought there was nothing better in the world than settling down to read a good book.

She had a mental list of things that were necessary on missions. Various weapons, fake identification, a decent cell phone and a memorized list of numbers to call if something went wrong. But top of her list of things to take on a mission that would not mean the difference between life and death was the humble paperback.

It was practical – portable, small, lightweight, instantly disposable if she needed to lighten her load for whatever reason and incredibly easy to get hold of when she next arrived somewhere relatively safe. And for all that, it was the door to another world.

She read trashy romance novels, the classics and anything in-between. The language a book was written in made no difference to her – she simply considered it practice. She had started Anna Karenina in Russian, switched to French halfway through and ended in Spanish. It would have given most people a headache, but it made the Israeli smile.

Books were perfect for her job. Stuck on a stakeout? Take a heavy book. On the move a lot? Something smaller. She could put a book down at a moment's notice; she could escape to another world for as much time as she had, whether five minutes or five hours.

She leant back in her chair in the squad room, glared at Tony to make sure he would not disturb her, and began her new book, _The Catcher in the Rye_.


	19. Apr 19

_**Apr 19  
><strong>_The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.  
><strong>Oscar Wilde<strong>** (1854 - 1900)**

Tony DiNozzo pouted as he sat at his desk.

It had been a slow day. With no spree killings or mysterious, mutilated bodies dropping out of the sky (sometimes literally), Team Gibbs had been stuck with paperwork. Boring paperwork that related to the exciting cases, cases that would fall apart in court if they didn't write reports and type up witness statements.

Paperwork days were inevitably slow days, days where he would stare at the clock and will it to move faster. The Probie was an imbecile and would happily type away at his desk for hours on end without pausing to talk or play games. Ziva could be relied on for mischief and gossip at first, until she decided she needed to work and then would enforce silence by playing with her various weapons.

And Gibbs wasn't interested in anything.

But the worse thing about today, the bit that made it worse than any other day in history, was that he'd gone for a new hairstyle.

And no one had noticed.

His hair now spiked up a little on the top. It was a touch longer than he usually allowed it to grow, and he was waiting on a decision from _el jefe _whether it was too long (although Gibbs thought anything longer than a standard Marine cut was too long).

He continued to pout, depressed that no one had said anything. Perhaps he should go and see Abby. She would notice.


	20. Apr 20

_**Apr 20  
><strong>_There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy.  
><strong>Robert Louis Stevenson<strong>** (1850 - 1894)**

Ducky had always wondered why some people were happy to be miserable.

Some of his mother's friends were never happy unless they were complaining about something. His tea was always slightly too hot or slightly too cold, or wasn't strong enough, or was too weak, or he should have put the milk in first and _then_ the hot water. When it came to the weather, it was always too warm or too cold, or too wet or too dry, or too windy…

Some people seemed to need something to complain about, something to make them miserable. They enjoyed nothing better than to feel victimized by everything that crossed their path on every occasion. The simple pleasures in life were things to moan about. Even a beautiful sunrise was considered either frivolous, or too bright or too weak, or not spectacular enough.

But it was not just his mother's friends, and the attitude was not always so pronounced. Jethro fell into that category. He was content to work himself into the ground, allow himself little time for relaxation, and move from case to case as though his life depended on it. He snapped at his team, kept them on his toes and rarely smiled.

To Ducky, it was a perplexing state of mind. He would rather accept that there were some things he could not change, and enjoy everything he could.


	21. Apr 21

_**Apr 21  
><strong>_Every day that we spent not improving our products was a wasted day.  
><strong>Joel Spolsky<strong>, _Sink or Swim, SXSW 2006_

Timothy McGee sighed as he completed his report, reaching for his coffee and allowing himself a victory sip.

Not too much – he hadn't entirely finished. But he needed some kind of reward for managing to get to this stage, especially as both Ziva and Tony had taken one look at the deadline Gibbs had given them (next week sometime) and immediately gone home to enjoy a relaxing evening.

Tim knew better. If he didn't get this report out of the way now, the next week would be filled with fieldwork, leaving him little to no time to write his report. His teammates would have to pull a full night to complete theirs. While he, he would bask in glory and smirk at them.

At this time, he could have gone home. But he knew it would only take another half an hour to check his report. Despite his eyes being tired and likely to miss the little typos, he diligently began re-reading his entire report, editing sentences he wasn't sure made complete sense, fixing formatting errors, spotting a few grammatical mistakes.

Finally, having reached the end of the document, he shut down his computer for the night and finished his coffee. Even though he had just checked his report, he still planned to re-check it in the morning, once his eyes had rested and his mind had had the chance to think of something else. He always thought of something he needed to add when he was in the shower…

He whistled as he left the Navy Yard. Every day he didn't try his utmost to keep on top of his paperwork was a wasted day.


	22. Apr 22

_**Apr 22  
><strong>_I have been truthful all along the way. The truth is more interesting, and if you tell the truth you never have to cover your tracks.  
><strong>Real Live Preacher<strong>, _ Weblog, January 04, 2004_

"Palmer!"

Abby Scuito scowled at Ducky's assistant, who was probably starting to wish he'd never come into work. Or started working at the Navy Yard. Or decided to study medicine.

"It wasn't me!" he protested feebly.

It didn't work. Abby had wound herself up all morning while Palmer had been attending a lecture, and now she was not going to take any defense. There was far too much at stake to listen to the Autopsy Gremlin's excuses.

She knew it was him. That wasn't the part that bothered her. What mattered the most was that he was lying to her. She did not mind when people made mistakes. She did not mind when people were clumsy or perhaps in places they should not be. But when someone lied to her, Abby got upset.

She presumed it was because she believed a lie meant someone felt they could not be honest with her. When she lied, it was for a very good reason, such as to not tell Tony she'd signed him up for more gay porn email newsletters, or so she didn't admit to Gibbs she remembered when his birthday was (despite her attempts, he had never appeared surprised when she gave him his present), or when she had to conceal her latest attempt to catch Mommy and Daddy behind closed doors.

There was no good reason for not telling her of the whereabouts of her CD player. Even if it was in little tiny pieces, she would prefer to know than to spend the whole day searching the Navy Yard for it.

She glared at Palmer some more and watched him wilt. She would make him sorry for lying to her.


	23. Apr 23

_**Apr 23  
><strong>_Work and struggle and never accept an evil that you can change.  
><strong>Andre Gide<strong>** (1869 - 1951)**

Ziva David had not simply left Mossad because she could no longer trust her father. It played a part in her decision, but there was another, more pressing reason to leave behind the agency that had shaped her life so much.

Her job was to hunt monsters. To spy on, confront and defeat monsters. Over the years, she had watched monsters progress down a familiar path. They got an idea into their head, usually one which meant they viewed her fellow citizens as worthless creatures who needed to be destroyed. The idea began to consume them completely, shrouding them in hate. Eventually, they had to act out, often killing innocent people.

But perhaps it was not as clear-cut as that. Perhaps it was not simply a case of _us_ policing _them_. Perhaps, in stalking people, spying on their most intimate moments, killing them before they could kill anyone else, perhaps _she_ was becoming a monster herself.

How would she know? She did not feel any different, but she supposed _they_ did not feel different either. She knew she had started off with good intentions, with the desire to protect her country, but so had _they_.

Killing Ari had changed everything. If he, her big brother, the one who had protected her and Tali throughout their childhoods, could become a monster, what was stopping her? Perhaps she was already a monster and she did not yet know it.

Leaving Mossad was not a simple choice – it was the only way to stop her becoming the very monster she fought against.


	24. Apr 24

_**Apr 24  
><strong>_You never know till you try to reach them how accessible men are; but you must approach each man by the right door.  
><strong>Henry Ward Beecher<strong>** (1813 - 1887)**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was in a surprisingly good mood. Their current case appeared open and shut, and all he needed was the Director's signature to steal his main suspect back from Fornell, who had arrested him for some utterly bizarre reason.

Scuttlebutt had it that Jenny's meeting with SecNav was running late. Very late. In a more indulgent mood than normal, he decided to wait for her in her office, to make sure she did not elude him on her return and sneak out of the Navy Yard before he could obtain her signature. And giving her a shock would amuse him.

Aware his team could keep themselves occupied for a while without him breathing down their necks, he entered Cynthia's office, glancing over without breaking his stride to notice Jenny's assistant had disappeared on an errand. Good. She couldn't warn her boss. He took two steps to the door, flung it open, ignored the usual crash as it hit the wall…

And almost jumped out his skin as the hinges broke and the door fell on the floor.

She was going to kill him. Painfully.

He couldn't deny it was him; he was the only one who dared treat her door in such a manner. At least Cynthia hadn't witnessed it or she would have probably killed him before Jenny could. He stared at the door, before glancing at his watch.

He probably had just enough time to buy an adequate amount of chocolate with which he could placate the redhead. Deciding not to cut it too fine, he set off at a jog.


	25. Apr 25

_**Apr 25  
><strong>_Boredom is a sign of satisfied ignorance, blunted apprehension, crass sympathies, dull understanding, feeble powers of attention, and irreclaimable weakness of character.  
><strong>James Bridie<strong>

Tony DiNozzo focused all his attention on making the perfect paper airplane.

There was nothing to do. For once, he had no paperwork. A complete lack of cases for a whole week had lead him to finish all his missing reports, with a little encouragement from Ziva, who was up to date on her work and had sat on his desk and prodded him into producing reports. With no new cases, he had nothing to do. And after Jenny had forced Gibbs into taking vacation time (by threatening to withdraw the time and not pay him for working for a week to make up for it), Team Gibbs did not even have to look at cold cases.

Boredom had set in. McGee was now openly writing his latest novel in Abby's lab, complete with typewriter and funny pipe. Ziva was practicing her many martial arts in the gym, and had banned Tony after she had caught him staring at her butt once too often. He couldn't even bother Abby after she had warned the entire Navy Yard she had a tricky procedure to do this afternoon and needed to be left in peace.

Which left him alone in the squad room with nothing to do. He stared at his phone, having tired of the games on it and the games on his computer too. He couldn't prank anyone. He couldn't throw things at McGee. What to do?

A smile grew on his face. Ducky would love his company for a few hours. He just had to stay awake down there.


	26. Apr 26

_**Apr 26  
><strong>_Indolence is sweet, and its consequences bitter.  
><strong>Voltaire<strong>** (1694 - 1778)**

Ziva David stepped off the elevator on Abby's floor and wondered yet again if she had chosen the right person.

Gibbs had probably never read a book. Tony _definitely_ had not read a book. McGee would happily answer her, but he was busy hacking into the CIA and she did not wish to disturb him for something so trivial. Jenny was at a conference in Rome and Ducky was up to his elbows in dead bodies.

Abby would probably be able to help her, if she too was not swamped in work. The Israeli shrugged her shoulders as she entered the Goth's domain. It was not the end of the world anyway. She was simply curious and could not locate her Hebrew-English dictionary. Tony was a dead man when she saw him next.

"Ziva!" Abby squealed as she saw her approach. "It's so good to see you! I have to load these samples into Major Mass Spec, but I don't need to focus much so I hope you've come to gossip."

The Israeli smiled. Abby could always be counted on to brighten up a day. "I am curious," she began. "What is indolence?"

"You mean the cancer drug?" Abby suggested.

Ziva frowned. "Are you sure? I was reading Dickens."

"Oh, which one?" Abby practically danced as she placed the samples in the correct places. "I re-read A Christmas Carol the other day; it made me cry."

"I have read that, but I did not cry," Ziva admitted. "Have you read Bleak House? I thought it was excellent."

"And Oliver Twist!" Abby cried. "Such a beautiful ending."

As the conversation continued, Ziva found herself smiling. She still did not know the answer to her question, but it no longer mattered.


	27. Apr 27

_**Apr 27  
><strong>_I think we ought always to entertain our opinions with some measure of doubt. I shouldn't wish people dogmatically to believe any philosophy, not even mine.  
><strong>Bertrand Russell<strong>** (1872 - 1970)**

Stakeouts were boring. Only very rarely did something happen that forced the agents into leaving whatever cold vehicle they were sitting in, and instead they had to try to stay awake, alert, and ignore any parts of their body that might fall asleep after sitting in a tiny seat for eight hours without being able to stretch their legs.

Timothy McGee thought stakeouts were a necessary evil. While he might die of boredom, there was a good chance some usual intelligence would be gathered. The only person he knew who actively enjoyed stakeouts was Tony, and that summed it up.

Tonight, as the temperature continued to drop and the world slept, he was stuck in a car with Ziva. Fortunately, the Israeli was content to stare at their suspect's house and stay silent. He wasn't even sure when she had last blinked.

He had a book to read. Ducky had suggested a philosophy book; not Tim's usual cup of tea, but he was willing to try it. He was actually finding it fascinating, making him aware of how he thought.

He came to the end of a chapter, glanced up so he could honestly say he was doing his job (and check Ziva had not somehow fallen asleep with her eyes open), dully registered the dogs mating on the front lawn, and went back to his book. When he arrived at the Navy Yard in the morning, he was going to ask Ducky to recommend something similar to this.


	28. Apr 28

_**Apr 28  
><strong>_There are many things of which a wise man might wish to be ignorant.  
><strong>Ralph Waldo Emerson<strong>** (1803 - 1882)**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs knew his senior field agent could be an absolutely pain in the backside.

He had lost count of the times he had watched as Tony had done something stupid, or said something stupid, or simply tripped over his own feet and come crashing to the ground. Tony was a clown and nothing he did would ever stop that. Sure, he could glare him into working most of the time, but he would never be able to change Tony that much.

And he did not want to. Tony's antics amused his team and kept them happy. When they had a bad case, Tony would cheer everyone up. He was the glue that kept his new family together; the one who caused most of the arguments, which more often than not ended in everyone laughing. He encouraged friendships to form and supported them when the bonds deepened to family.

Perhaps he could control Tony enough to prevent his actions. But he had no desire to do so. Although he would never admit it to his team, he gave them the space necessary for Tony to act up and keep them happy. He took longer on his coffee trips than he needed to so that Tony could play up. He spent extra time with Abby so Tony could tease McGee and be threatened by Ziva.

Gibbs enjoyed pretending to be ignorant. Anyway, if it got out of hand, he could always 'learn' what had been occurring in his absence.


	29. Apr 29

_**Apr 29  
><strong>_Be warned against all 'good' advice because 'good' advice is necessarily 'safe' advice, and though it will undoubtedly follow a sane pattern, it will very likely lead one into total sterility-one of the crushing problems of our time.  
><strong>Jules Feiffer<strong>** (1929 - )**

"Are you sterile?"

Ziva David watched as her partner's head shot up from whatever he was doing, which was most likely playing a silly computer game. He glanced around the squad room to see whether anyone had overheard them.

She doubted it. She had deliberately timed her question for when Gibbs had gone on a coffee run and while McGee was down in Cyber.

"I am not sterile," he hissed at her, satisfied they were alone. "And keep it down. What the hell is in your head?"

"You have been with so many women," she pointed out. "And yet you do not have children. I was wondering if it was because you were sterile."

"I haven't have kids yet because I haven't met the woman I want to _have_ my kids," he replied. "I am not sterile."

"You are getting older," she noted. "Perhaps you will be sterile soon."

"Are you sure I don't have kids?" Tony demanded. "Maybe I'm keeping it a secret."

Ziva snorted. "You cannot keep secret what you had for breakfast this morning."

"I can!"

"Actually, you do have a point," Ziva conceded.

"I do?" Tony questioned. "I do!"

"Perhaps you do have a child out there, and the mother never informed you."

He gaped at her. "That's low."

She screwed her face up in confusion. "How? You are immature and irresponsible. If we had a short-lived relationship and I never planned to see you again, and if you had made me pregnant, I am not sure I would bother to tell you."

"You cannot be serious."

"It is simply a matter of DNA," she argued. "Does it matter that much if you do not know the child exists in the first place?" She glared at him, daring him to challenge her.

"Fine." He rose from his chair and moved towards her. "We're going to Abby's lab and she is going to change your mind."


	30. Apr 30

_**Apr 30  
><strong>_So far I haven't heard of anybody who wants to stop living on account of the cost.  
><strong>Kin Hubbard<strong>** (1868 - 1930)**

Abby Scuito bounced up and down as she waited outside the Director's office. Her day had gone well and now she was going to see if she could persuade Jenny to buy her some fancy new equipment.

Her old equipment worked perfectly well, but forensic science was a fast-evolving discipline and there were always new methods to try. What was new one day was old the next. She was fortunate to have a substantial budget, especially as NCIS was so small, but she thought she might need permission for her newest dream toy. It was just a tiny bit expensive.

The door opened and Abby quickly enveloped the older woman in a hug. When she pulled back, she ignored Cynthia's look of confusion and bounded into the office without needing an invitation. She did not miss the grin Jenny shot her assistant before closing the door.

"How can I help you, Abby?" Jenny asked, indicating one of the chairs in front of her desk and settling in the other one so they could have a more informal conversation.

"I've come to ask for a tandem mass spec," Abby smiled sweetly.

"And what would that be?" Jenny inquired.

"It's a mass spectrometer with more than one analyzer," Abby happily explained. "It's really cool. In this case, I want a quadrupole-quadrupole-quadrupole one, with the middle quadrupole acting as a collision cell by applying an RF."

"RF?" Jenny looked blank.

"Radio frequency!" Abby explained happily.

"Right… How much is this likely to cost?"

Abby winced. "Erm, a lot."

Jenny nodded sagely. "Let's see what we can do."


End file.
